


What It Means to Need

by kjack89



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, Love Confessions, M/M, Pining, of sorts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-29
Updated: 2013-08-29
Packaged: 2017-12-25 00:36:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/946595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kjack89/pseuds/kjack89
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras is distracted, and comes to the conclusion that he may need Grantaire more than he realized.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What It Means to Need

**Author's Note:**

> I was distracted and took it out on the world by writing about Enjolras being distracted.
> 
> Usual disclaimer - if you recognize it, it's probably not mine. All mistakes are mine and mine alone.

Enjolras was not at the top of his game. To even think that thought, let alone say it out loud, was somehow the worst form of blasphemy, which is why most of Les Amis kept quiet, pointedly not looking at each other, pointedly studying the grain of the wood of the tables in the Musain as Enjolras fumbled with his notes for the fourth time in ten minutes. 

No, Enjolras was not at the top of his game. Enjolras was… _distracted_.

And what made it a million times worse was that Enjolras did not get distracted. He had once given a speech in front of a room full of over 300 people when he had the flu, and his nose had started running in the middle of it and instead of stopping, instead of blowing or wiping his nose, he had carried on, determinedly ignoring the snot that dribbled down his chin and accumulated in disgusting drops on his shirt. And when he had finished, it was to raucous applause. No one even made fun of the fact that his stuffed nose had turned his n’s and th’s to d’s.

Well, not to his face anyway.

So the fact that Enjolras was distracted not sat poorly with Les Amis, but also irritated Enjolras to no end. He was angry with himself because he was _better_  than this, damnit.

Except that apparently he wasn’t.

His eyes swept the room, almost accusingly, demanding answers as to why he couldn’t keep focused, what it was that had crawled underneath his skin and made him feel like he wanted to be anywhere but here. Because it just didn’t make any  _sense_. Everyone was quiet today, on their best behavior. Grantaire, normally the cause of all distractions, wasn’t even at the meeting today, and…oh.

Oh.

_OH._

Grantaire was the only thing missing, the only possible explanation for why Enjolras was feeling the way he was, and as his eyes narrowed in on Grantaire’s usual seat, he felt a lurch in his stomach.

It still didn’t make any sense. Grantaire _was_  a distraction all on his own. Loud and always interrupting, he seemed constantly determined to throw Enjolras off his game.

Except that it made perfect sense. Because Enjolras’s arguments were always refined by Grantaire’s distracting, by the counterarguments he raised, to the point where Enjolras now looked forward to matching word against word with him. To the point where he could barely wait to see him again. To the point where sometimes, though he’d probably never admit it, he even dreamed about Grantaire. To the point where, apparently, his very absence wounded Enjolras on some deep level.

He hadn’t even realized he’d been staring blankly at Grantaire’s usual seat for several minutes straight until Combeferre cleared his voice and said, awkwardly, “Well, I think that’s enough for today. We’ll, uh, we’ll reconvene next week.” He then touched Enjolras lightly on the shoulder. “Enjolras? Are you alright?”

Enjolras stared at him blankly, then nodded, once. “Yeah,” he said, his voice sounding far away, even to him. “I…There’s something I need to do.”

And with that, he gathered his notes, shoved them haphazardly into his messenger bag, and left, not even noticing the stares that followed in his wake.

He would have walked to Grantaire’s apartment but didn’t trust himself to not get himself lost with the state he was in, so he allowed himself the rare luxury of a cab (ignoring the fact that Grantaire literally lived five blocks from the Musain). When he got to Grantaire’s apartment building, he took the steps two at a time until he stood outside of Grantaire’s apartment. Then he took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

Grantaire opened it after what may have been the longest minute of Enjolras’s life, covered in paint and blinking in surprise when he saw Enjolras standing there. “Uh, hi,” Grantaire said, running a hand through his hair. “Um, can I help you?”

There were a million things Enjolras wanted to say, but instead he took a deep breath and said quickly, “You…you weren’t at the meeting today.”

Frowning slightly, Grantaire said, “No, I wasn’t…” He paused, then asked with a raised eyebrow, “And your point is…?”

“You were supposed to be there,” Enjolras blurted, knowing as soon as he said it that it had been the wrong thing to say.

Grantaire’s face tightened, something flashing across it before settling on a closed look. “Enjolras, I don’t have time for this,” said Grantaire wearily, turning away. “For once you’re not the only one who has work to do, and I’ll settle for the lecture of why I should have been at the meeting and how I would’ve avoided this had I planned properly during the school year at another time, alright? Because—”

Enjolras reached out and grabbed his wrist, the contact instantly making Grantaire stop, look down at their hands, and then raise his eyes slowly to Enjolras’s, who swallowed, hard, and said in a choked whisper, “Please, I…I need you.”

A small noise escaped from Grantaire’s mouth and he cleared his throat, blushing slightly, and made as if to speak but Enjolras beat him to it, crossing to him in a single stride and sliding his arms around him, nestling his head against Grantaire’s shoulder, cheek and lips pressed along Grantaire’s neck, and he murmured, again, “I need you.”

And there, pressed up against Grantaire, breathing in his scent – when had it become so achingly familiar, so oddly vital? – feeling his heart beat, just a little erratically, under the ruddy skin, there Enjolras felt himself relax, felt his entire world somehow spin back into focus. Some small part of his brain insisted that this wasn’t  _right_ , that he should be better or stronger than this, but the other part of his brain was instantly refocusing, dredging up every fact he had spent all of last night memorizing (and an even smaller, even quieter part of his brain was thinking about how  _good_  this felt).

But then Grantaire was pulling away, and Enjolras involuntarily whimpered – _whimpered_ , for Christ’s sake, like a goddamned puppy or something (the very small part of his brain thinking of how good that had felt had suddenly become a much larger part, roaring to the forefront and demanding to be returned to Grantaire) – and looked at him, confused. Grantaire’s eyes were squeezed shut, his hands clenched into fists at his side, and he looked very much like he was trying to keep himself calm. After a very long moment, he opened his eyes but refrained from looking at Enjolras and instead said quietly, “No.”

“No?” Enjolras repeated, confused. “Grantaire—”

“I said ‘no’,” Grantaire snapped, stepping back from Enjolras, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “No, I won’t be a part of whatever twisted game it is that you’re playing here, no I won’t fall for this because you  _don’t_ need me.”

Enjolras just stared at him. “That’s…that’s not true. I do need you, Grantaire. I just…I don’t know, I didn’t realize it before. But I need you in a lot of ways, the least of which being at meetings because you…you keep me focused, you keep me sharp, you keep me on top of my game.”

Grantaire’s lip curled. “So you just need me to keep you on the ball?”

Frowning, Enjolras asked, “Is that such a bad thing, for me to need you? Is that so hard for you to think that someone might need you? Or are you really as nihilistic as you appear, not needing anyone?”

“You really think you’re the only one who needs someone?!” Grantaire burst, eyes flashing dangerously. “God, Enjolras, are you really that stupid?”

Enjolras just stared at him, suddenly rethinking every conversation they had had of recent, all the moments shared, realizing that as much as he had found he needed Grantaire, Grantaire had somehow always been there for him, which could really only mean… “Do you…do you need me?” he asked, awkwardly, unsure how to word what he was trying to get across.

Grantaire ran a tired hand over his face. “Do you really not know? For fuck’s sake, some days it feels like I need you so much that I can’t fucking  _breathe_ without you there in the same goddamn room with me, but it’s not a temporary thing for me. You’re not some temporary relief to me!”

Enjolras frowned, feeling as if his meaning had been horribly interpreted. “Grantaire—”

“But that’s just the thing,” Grantaire continued as if Enjolras had not spoken, voice soft, eyes downcast. “I need you, too. But I can’t have you. Not like I want, like I need.”

“What if you could?” Enjolras challenged, only just managing to refrain from reaching out for him, his heart pounding so heavily in his chest that it _hurt_. “What if…what if I tried? Because I…I think I want to try. If you’ll let me.”

Grantaire’s eyes snapped up to meet his, and he chewed his lip thoughtfully, honestly considering it for a moment, indecision written starkly across his face. Then he huffed a sigh. “I don’t know, Enj…I’m really fucking needy sometimes.”

Now Enjolras didn’t stop himself, reaching out to draw Grantaire closer to him, to cup his cheek, to run his thumb across Grantaire’s cheekbone until Grantaire finally dared to look back up at him. “And apparently, so am I.”

“I’m a mess,” said Grantaire honestly, though he leaned into Enjolras’s touch. “I’m a mess and all I will accomplish is bringing you down just like I always have, and you’ll get tired of dealing with all my shit—”

“I’ve been tired of dealing with all your shit for years,” Enjolras reminded him in a soft voice. “And yet here I stand. Besides,” he continued, circling Grantaire’s waist with his free arm, pulling him even closer, “you have never once brought me down. I was just too big of an idiot to notice that some days, you’re the only thing keeping me afloat.”

Grantaire bit his lip again, and Enjolras wanted nothing more than to kiss him. “I’m a drug addict,” he admitted softly. “Recovering, but still. And an alcoholic – no recovering there.”

Shrugging, Enjolras said lightly, “Well, I’m a felon, so…”

“You’re a what?” exclaimed Grantaire, his face breaking into the first genuine grin it had worn since Enjolras’s arrival.

Enjolras grinned as well, though a blush also rose in his cheeks, and he muttered, “I maintain it was a misunderstanding, but I may have hit a police officer and gotten charged with felony assault on a police officer.”

“Yeah but for a first offense, you can normally plea bargain out,” said Grantaire, still sounding amazed.

Now Enjolras’s blush darkened, and he looked down at the ground. “It may, uh…it may not have been the first time.”

Grantaire stared at him for a moment before bursting into laughter, leaning forward to muffle his laugh against Enjolras’s shoulder. Enjolras used the opportunity to pull Grantaire closer, feeling a small thrill when Grantaire’s arms circled him as well. “What a fucking pair we make, huh?” asked Grantaire, voice muffled against Enjolras.

Enjolras laughed as well, quietly, his hand rubbing Grantaire’s back. “Yep. You may think you have the monopoly on being fucked up in our group, but I promise you, that’s not true.”

Pulling back, just slightly, Grantaire looked up at him, something almost bashful on his face, and he asked softly, “So…are we really doing this?”

“You tell me,” said Enjolras, trying to ignore the way his heart had just leapt from its spot in his chest to lodge firmly in his throat.

In answer, Grantaire leaned in, pressing a firm kiss against Enjolras’s lips, and after a moment, Enjolras opened his mouth in a sigh, cupping the back of Grantaire’s head with his hand, and that was all it took to turn the chaste kiss into something more.

A few minutes later they broke apart just far enough to rest their foreheads together, Grantaire running his fingers through Enjolras’s hair before murmuring, “This is going to be the biggest mistake you’ve made.”

“Wrong,” said Enjolras, kissing him lightly. “This is the best mistake I’ve ever made. Because I need you.”

Grantaire caught Enjolras’s lips with his own, kissing him hungrily, and when they broke apart next, he warned, “You know, that’s not always going to work on me. Telling me that you need me…I’ll get immune to it eventually.”

Enjolras laughed softly. “We’ll see. Maybe I’ll get immune to you needing me.”

Frowning, Grantaire pulled away slightly. “You’ve been immune to how much I need you for  _years_.”

“I know,” Enjolras whispered, brushing a strand of Grantaire’s hair out of his face. “And God, what a fucking idiot I was for all those years.”

“Well, you won’t hear me argue otherwise,” Grantaire teased, though his grip on Enjolras tightened slightly.

Enjolras bent to kiss him again, a deep, slow kiss. “Never again. I promise you that. I can’t promise I won’t still be an idiot, but not about this, not anymore. I won’t…I  _can’t_  go back, not now that I know.”

Grantaire raised an eyebrow at him skeptically. “I need you,” he told him, voice pitched low. “I need you like I need oxygen, like I need water, like you keep me alive. I need you like the blind man needs the sun. I—”

Enjolras cut him off by kissing him fiercely, pressing him back against the wall, cupping his cheek and holding him with every ounce of passion he possessed. Then he pulled away so that their noses just brushed and murmured, “That was a really stupid simile. The blind man doesn’t need the sun.”

Chuckling softly, Grantaire kissed him again. “Worked, didn’t it?”

“I am sad to admit that it did,” Enjolras sighed. “And I don’t think it’s going to stop working for a very long time.”

“Well good,” said Grantaire, sounding satisfied, if a little nervous. “Because I don’t think I’m going to stop needing you for a long time.”

Enjolras kissed him, slow and sweet. “Me neither,” he whispered, resting his forehead against Grantaire’s. “Me neither.”

 

 


End file.
